I have a secret. But not for long. Because I'm about to confess. I can't hold it in any longer. My Christmas tree is still standing.
Don't you hate to let go of that holiday spirit? That festive mood that starts the day after Halloween, thanks to The Devil's Playground? I love that time of year. The #1 son was born in December, and The Pony was born in February. So I associate the winter months with that sweet anticipation. My cold, cold heart warms a few degrees during blizzard season.
The Ides of March have come and gone, and still my tree hangs on. It's not a real tree. Curmudgeon H decreed that we would have only one Christmas tree last year. That's just crazy talk. I've always had an artificial tree in the living room, and a real Scotch pine in the basement family room. It's free, because some relatives own a tree farm, and graciously give living, breathing trees to the kin. Well, they're living until we saw the sap out of them and impale their trunks with three screws. But they smell so good when they're dying a slow death, with a mercy dose of aspirin to kill their pain. One tree, indeed. That Darn H is such a fun-sucker.
My lone Christmas tree is in the basement, fully decorated. Every evening, The Pony plugs in the lights, and we watch TV by the sweet multicolored glow. At the end of January, King H issued a proclamation that all Christmas trees would be dismantled by February 1 in the Kingdom of Hillmomba. I scoff at his laws.
The Pony and I have our sights set on an Easter deadline. Actually, The Pony thinks Old Tannenbaum will last until Christmas this year. I cannot concur. He must be put away when school is out Memorial Day weekend.
Otherwise, I have nothing to look forward to the day after Halloween.